


A Bit Late

by SnailWrites (SymbioteSpideypool)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff and Angst, Letters, M/M, Tragic Romance, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:01:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6089365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SymbioteSpideypool/pseuds/SnailWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Alfred met at Arthur's pub while Alfred was stationed in London. After Alfred left they sent letters back and forth, sharing what they could in between the black marks of censors and unwritten secrets. A lot of soldiers don't make it back, but Arthur has faith that his will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 5-3-44

Dear Arthur,  
I’m sending this postcard as soon as I get to the barracks. Col. _________ already has it out for me. Can’t imagine why. I’m absolutely charming. Least you said I was once. I remember it clearly because you had a face like when I said coffee was better than tea. I miss you already.   
Love,  
Alfred F. Jones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this one is realllllly short but it's supposed to be on a postcard. You can't write much on a postcard. I'll be writing letters of correspondence between Arthur and Alfred. I'm trying my best with the historical accuracy bit, but feel free to point out any mistakes or just share some cool WW2 era facts. If I have time I'd like to add in some drawings to Alfred's letters since I think he would doodle on occasion. The chapters are each going to be a seperate letter which can vary from short like this one to really long. I feel like Arthur is the one with enough time to be long winded here. Comments and critiques are appreciated!


	2. 9-3-44

Dear Arthur,  
I haven't had too much time to myself since I got here. I finally got a break after all the paperwork got turned in. The sleeping quarters are cramped, as is expected. At least we don't have inspection for another few days. My bunk is already messy. I never turn down all the corners like you do so it looks all rumpled. It's always freezing here at night, but it's nothing I can't handle. Everybody's been grumbling about it though. There's never enough fuel for the fires here. The worst part of all this isn't the training, not that I have any problems with it. It's not nearly as hard as working on the farm. The worst part is that you only get fifteen minutes to eat before it's back to work. I, for one, like to enjoy my hard earned oatmeal over a nice dinner conversation instead of choking it all down in one go and dashing off without a hello.  
I can't wait until we get some real action. I'm sick of polishing sinks and dusting. After inspection we get to cut the chicken shit. All my beautiful muscles are going to waste away without a purpose, besides training. It's pretty brutal. Even I'm having a hard time with it, but it's necessary to get stronger. We've been doing plenty of drills to prep. I'm already ahead with the arms. I've always been a good shot. Course shooting a pistol before I could walk sure helps.  
I've found a quiet enough place to write here in the bunks while everybody else is out. There's absolutely no privacy here. Gen. __________ is going to know me better than my own mother in a month at the most.  
The boys here are all pretty close to my age, but there's one or two pushing thirty. Some of us got shipped up here together, so we've already been acquainted. I'm not supposed to tell you anything about where I am or what I’m doing. If I did then the censors would send you a giant ink blot. I don't know how long it'll take to get a letter to you, but it should be quicker than the ones I send to my family back home. I hope I can hear from you all soon. I can't wait to get your letter.  
Love,  
Alfred F Jones


	3. 12-3-44

Dear Git,  
Your postcard took a week to arrive and I’m blaming you for it taking so long. Ms. Hansen from next door just got a letter from her boy dated several weeks back, so I suppose it might not be your fault the post is slow.   
I had a war vet in the pub today that got pissed and started going on about how we were using chickens to take down the Krauts. He said they were being raised in _________________ far away from civilians so nobody would notice. And then when they grew up they __________________________________________________. He tried to bring by a flock of chicks for me to hide in the basement in case the bailiff came knocking at his door again. He still managed to sneak them in, and he must have been training them himself because they really did ____________________________________ all the way to _____________________ so of course we can’t have chickens living in the cellar now.   
Business has been good. You Americans might be bloody annoying, but you sure pay the bills. I suppose I should be grateful. After all, it’s how I met you. Even if you are a pain in the arse.  
Speaking of you being a pain, I’m guessing that you’ve run your big mouth and somebody got mad. You do have such a way with words. Sometimes it helps to shut your mouth and listen to the officers. Don’t get yourself into more trouble than you need.   
I remember that time my grand mum forced me to say something nice about you. It was terribly painful. I could see your massive ego swelling as soon as I uttered the words. It’s going to get you into more trouble if you don’t learn to shut up sometimes.  
I guess you became a bit of a fixture while you were here. One of my regulars, Old Barny, was asking about you. I told him you were doing well, and having a grand old time getting yelled at by your officers. He thought it was funny. He said you’ve got spirit, and that it’ll be good for you and the other troops. These men, they can’t fight anymore, so they’re awfully proud of you. Feel a bit like you’re fighting for them. Could you write about your adventures? I think it would lift their spirits. They send their regards, and have instructed me to tell you to “give ‘em hell!”  
If you get any time off while you’re in England, you know where to find me.  
Yours truly,  
Arthur Kirkland


End file.
